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Cardboard-Jones Jun 2020
Photographs.
There was love here once.
There was happiness here once.
Once...
But time flew past
And we couldn’t keep up.
We tried our best
But you stopped to rest.
It doesn’t matter where you were
Or where you are now.
‘Cause you’ll never be where I am again.

Smiles and laughs.
We couldn’t get enough.
We couldn’t give enough.
But...
When the magic left,
And all that remained was us,
It wasn’t good enough,
I was never good enough.
I couldn’t recognize you,
But you swore you didn’t change.
I swear that I believed,
Because why lie to me?

You left me breathless
And God, did I miss the air.
You couldn’t care.
It doesn’t matter where you were
Or where you are now.
You’ll never be where I am again.
You’re a stranger.
A stranger of love.
Rich Jun 2020
Your roots run thousands of years deep
whether you’re proud or not, I haven’t heard it through the grapevine
but I see you sitting still on this rotating axis mid-bloom, rising to my height
rising with the Fahrenheit

Look across, I’m with the cacao trees
growing yet again, dying off yet again
resurrecting yet again, growing, again

on the same soil, we know the flavors of dust after biting worse
we are neighboring streets but parallel worlds
we are all closer than magnets can fathom with tempers of exploding atoms if ever pushed that far

What would it take for you to see through my eyes?

Well, could you race a maze the shape of brain creases and make it from start to finish in the time a fading wick will diminish

but I’ll show you the routes
put your heart in my compass and unlearn the pillars of your thoughts for a moment
I’ll lay a darker foundation for you to build on,
only for a moment, a sec, a yoctosecond
and you can return to yourself

Look me in the soul
spit your lies on the asphalt
exhale the truth and nothing but
even if it burns on the way out of you
it hurts me too

But it’s just the air I breathe. We adjust.

Like mother Earth, we adjust and keep growing, keep growing, keep growing, keep growing.
Folake Jun 2020
I hate people
Even though i know i shouldn't
It's easier that way
Hating is easier than loving
So is living in the past and not forgiving
Human beings are backwards but...
I'm human too.
Marla Jun 2020
I just broke her heart
‘cause she told me she was lying,
and by the night’s end she’ll feel it.
Her mascara-stained tear drops hit the carpet flying-
yet her eyes never trembled, they glistened.

Oh, why did you do me like this?
Did you ignore my pain and not feel it?
Sugar, why did you burn our whole life;
was my love just the prize to your winnings?

She saw me yesterday and asked
for a hand,
I said, “You don’t understand...
I meant that we were through.
Leave your keys up on the stoop.”

Then the love was in her eyes
and it took me by surprise,
and by that night’s end I was living.
My pain had gone away and her heart was full of light;
she whispered me a kiss
and I listened.

Oh why am I so wrapped up like this?
Is it only her heart that shimmers?
I always try to leave, but my soul just can’t resist.
Her love’s the summer breeze to my winter.
Alek Mielnikow Jun 2020
A mother sits on the edge
of a hospital bed with her
baby daughter lying on her lap.

The air throughout the hospital
is suffocating, stifling with the
stench of filth and death.

The walls amplify and echo the
anguish of women and children,
and jets fly somewhere overhead.

But she tries to sing a lullaby
through her parched throat
beneath her grubby niqāb. The skin
and bones that make her frame
cannot sway the child for comfort.

She cannot feed her; even if her
******* could provide sustenance,
the child’s sickness would puke it
back up. She craves to cry for God
to spare her little one, but her
bloodshot, sunken eyes no longer
produce tears. All she can offer is
her lullaby, the same one she sang
to all her children. All that remains
of them and their father are fragments,
scattered throughout dirt and debris,
blown to bits a week ago by a blast
in her village. When the only one left
became sick, she started the trek to
the nearest hospital. The journey
greeted her with dust and unbearable
heat, with the agony of an empty
stomach, with a child in misery and
excreting white diarrhea. And when
she finally reached the hospital, the
doctors could not provide treatment.

The disease had progressed too far,
and they did not have the means to
save her daughter. So she sits on a
hospice bed, surrounded by other
sickly and starving bodies, singing a
lullaby. Soon the child closes her eyes
and stops breathing, a thick white
drool leaking down her cheek. Her
mother wipes it away.


-
by Aleksander Mielnikow (Alek the Poet)
This poem depicts a bit of the horrific circumstances that are taking place regularly in Yemen. According to the UN, Yemen is suffering the worst humanitarian crisis in the world, with 80% of its citizens requiring humanitarian aid. And it is only getting worse.

The Saudi-led intervention in Yemen, backed by rich allies such as the United States and the United Kingdom, is committing war crimes. They are targeting innocent civilians with missiles (including some that many countries have banned the use of), and though this includes destroying hospitals and schools, it also includes peaceful villages and the encampments of 3 million displaced persons, unrelated to the Civil War that is being waged. They are targeting infrastructure (for example, gas stations and bridges) that make basic functioning arduous, if not impossible. And they are using a blockade to deny the passage of food and aid into the country. This blockade has perpetuated one of the worst cholera outbreaks ever (which is the “illness” the baby in this poem has). And it has left 20 million people facing food insecurity, with half of them being acutely food insecure. (Some are comparing this deliberate military tactic of famine to The Holodomor, the Ukranian Genocide of 1932-33).

And on top of facing starvation, succumbing to disease, or getting blown to pieces, they are also facing Covid-19 drastically limited resource, which is spreading at an alarming rate.

I titled this poem Forgotten because multiple sources that I’ve read about this crisis point out how the situation in Yemen is being largely ignored. And this ignorance will lead to the unfortunate end of millions of innocent people.

I don’t want that to happen.

In order for us to aid the Yemeni people, the conflict that is occurring needs to end. This can happen a number of ways. I will focus my part in what I can do to get the US Government (where I live) to stop supplying arms to the Saudi-led intervention. I have little influence in the political sphere, and if there’s anyone reading this who could throw a more powerful swing at it, please do. But I will let my readers know if there’s anything they can help me with, such as signing a letter/petition.

But we cannot rely on the conflict resolving when it is such a complex situation with interweaving influences and leaders who are committing or are complicit in atrocities. As such, the other thing we need to do is offer as much aid as we can. In the bio of my Instagram account, @alekthepoet,  there’s a link to multiple non-profits trying to help, and each link takes you to a page that offers more information on Yemen’s situation. Please donate what you can. I cannot offer much, and yet I scrounged up some money and will donate what I can as well (I am donating to Save The Children). Each website also offers more ways in which you can help, so if you have the time please look into that and see if there’s more you can do.

Please do what you can to help the Yemen people. They don’t deserve to be forgotten by us. Please share this information and post to make sure it doesn’t happen.
Bhavani Jun 2020
two worlds within me
one rule-abiding
and the other rule-smashing

how do they coexist
in a world of culture
and tradition

if I choose for myself
i’m selfish and
irresponsible

if I follow the rules
then I won’t be living
authentically

recent conversations
have made me hold a mirror
to myself

wondering again
how do I bring these two worlds
together

I just want to live
my truth without hurting
anyone.
Robert Ippaso May 2020
The country's on fire
Buildings ablaze
A situation most dire
Filmed through the haze.

Protesters all shouting
Passions inflamed
Of their anger no doubting
For the victim now named.

They march with hands raised
Indignant and loud
Determined, unphased,
To pressure unbowed.

But the message is tainted
The moment hijacked
The vision now painted
Of stores all ransacked.

Looters in droves
Their arms filled with goods
From iPhones to clothes
Their faces in hoods

Frenzied they run
Opportunity knocks
Plate glass they shun
With hammers and rocks.

Men of no soul
These rats of the night
Not caring they stole
What's pure and what's right.

Sadness surrounds us
Few places to turn
So much to discuss
While our cities now burn.
Max Neumann May 2020
I'm haunting myself
I leave strange notes carved deep
To await me when i wake
In a vain hope
they will evoke some meaning for my sake
The scene that greets me the next day
Is alien and weird
I don't recognise myself
It is just as i feared
So i haunt myself
When the penny drops at midnight
and the demi-gods are in sight
I'll leave a reminder
I hope to find
In the rising of dawn
But when i'm reborn
with a yawn
I find nothing but questions
Dark reflections
In a puddle of beer
and stark rejection
I muddle to clear the rubble and troublesome struggles i near
in my direction
So i haunt myself
I barely remember writing
Never remember feeling
and as soon as i get close to whats real then I turn away reeling
I figure it out every night
But drunk eyes give short sight
and the brain rotten
so as soon as i strain to recall the next day it's forgotten
Amnesia is pleasing when the reason I'm feeling this daemonic screaming is cos it feels as real as the ceiling
Then it subsides for a second
or a minute i reckon
Before the darkness beckons once more
I'm haunting myself
and unsure
I'm scared of the person
I was the night before
I'm host to a ghost
that revels in the terrible things
that cost me the most
Battling with the shadow it casts
hassled by the past like tassels on a cat
Me and the fiend in the glass staring back
I'm haunting myself
I had to ask Troubadour from allpoetry to have his great poem to be published here on HP. He agreed.
A remarkable read.
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